


Cosa Nostra

by Etherized



Category: Perfumare (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anatomical Terminology, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Implied Murder, Mentions of Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Mentions of Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etherized/pseuds/Etherized
Summary: “I’m going to kiss you.” And it’s not quite a question, he’s not exactly a man accustomed to asking permission.But it’s close enough.“What are you waiting for?”
Relationships: Main Character/Alan Wayats (Perfumare)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Cosa Nostra

“Ugh. What a mess.” She complains, lifting a boot to check what, or rather _who_ she’s stepping in.   
  
  
“Just like old times, hmm Alan?” 

  
“Mm.” He confirms with a nod, the cigarette he’d lit when they’d started almost burnt out. She’s honestly a little impressed that he’d somehow managed to keep it burning through all that.

  
“How did the deal go so south? I thought this was a sure thing?” She bemoans, bending to brace her hands against her thighs and catch her breath. 

  
“It’s been a while since you’ve had to dirty your hands personally, hasn’t it?” She says, after rising to slide a knife against a handkerchief. 

  
A huff of wry laughter escapes him between the puffs of smoke from the cigarette he balances precariously between his fingertips.

  
“Truly… I suppose it was only a matter of time.” She’s finished by the time he speaks, and folds the square of cloth, tucks it back into the breast pocket of her coat.

  
“What do you mean by that?” The fixed-blade knife returns to its place in the laces of her boot, fingers skimming the holster of another high on her thigh as she rises.

  
“At times, I feel as if my temper is only held in check when I’m with you.” His quiet answer is brutally honest, makes her jerk her head towards him in response. 

  
But it shatters the still silence of the empty warehouse.

  
A half dozen macabre guests serve as an audience to their melodrama as it plays out.

  
“What?” She asks again, at a loss for better words by the intense stare he’s fixed on her. 

  
His eyes are deathly pale, but warm. And he’s closer now, a scant step away from her.

  
“Ah. You’ve a touch of red on you.” He says, immaculate as always. Even the loose styled curls that frame his haunting eyes seem prearranged, intentional. 

  
“Hmm? Where?” Comes the slow reply. She can’t help it that her tongue is weighed down, heavy with the sudden want of him. The epinephrine from earlier has worn off, leaving her sluggish and bone-deep exhausted.   
  
  
“No, not there- here.” Cuts his voice sharply, as she scrubs at what must be the wrong side of her face. “Allow me.”  
  
  
A deft flick, and the cigarette snaps to the ground. 

  
A step forward, and it is crushed under the toe of shined leather shoes. And just like that, he eradicates the space between them.

  
Faster than she can consent or disagree, his elegant fingers have seemingly removed any trace of their crimes from her skin. He moves with purpose, the grace of a practiced predator. The grime of sticky cooling blood wiped clean by his warm hand is nearly hedonic. 

  
Spurred by his uncharacteristic gesture, she blurts the loudest thoughts currently occupying her mind.

  
“I love your hands.” Her voice is nearly a croak. “They’re beautiful.”

  
Her awkward response prompts a similarly awkward silence that seems to linger an eternity. Appearing neither taken aback, nor encouraging of her devotion, he simply stares at her and she at him for several long moments. 

  
Then, like the turning of the tide he moves to snatch up her own hand. 

  
“Is that so?” He inquires, a low note of interest curling his words into near sultry promises. “Tell me, are you familiar with the anatomy of the human hand?”

  
Swallowing audibly, she gives the slightest shake of her head. His ever aloof, detached expression shifts into a nigh feral grin.

  
“Hn. No matter, I assure you I am _intimately_ acquainted. Allow me to demonstrate.” 

  
With a not-so-gentle tug, she’s pulled against his chest. His other arm curling about her waist is enough of a distraction that she’s unprepared for the wrenching of her hand, exposing her vulnerable wrists. 

  
“The carpals, at the base of the palm.” His thumb digs into the vestigial space between the palmaris longus tendon of her forearm while he stares intently into her eyes. 

  
There’s subtext to be found here.

  
Standing amid a sea of gore they have both wrought, it is both the strangest and the most erotic thing she’s experienced in quite some time.

  
“The metacarpals, the intermediary bones.” Her hand is rotated to bare the delicate skin of the back of her hand to his scrutiny. 

  
Now that he is certain he has her attention; his grip is frighteningly gentle. 

  
In fact, it is so loose that she realizes he is offering her the escape. If she pulled away with any force, she could break his grasp. 

  
If.

  
If she wanted to.

  
He dips his head to press a kiss against her knuckles.

  
Spreading her fingers apart with his own, he singles out the joints of her pointer finger. “The phalanges.” He says conversationally, almost by way of explanation. 

  
Before sucking the pad of her index finger into his mouth. 

  
She gasps in surprise, melting under the ministrations of his tongue. He lingers there for a few minutes, running his lips along the length of each one of her fingers with his eyes closed. Savoring, committing the feel and taste of her skin to memory.

  
When he’s finished, he joins their hands palm to palm and lifts them higher to cradle against his cheek. 

  
“Beautiful.” She breathes, and he is. 

  
His selfish adoration of her is terribly tender, romantic. An act of lovers well versed in the script of their own drama.

  
They’re picking up right where they left off.

  
“Mm. _Exquisite._ ” Comes his response, unnaturally calm. 

  
Unaffected by the heat between them, when she feels afire. When she turns her gaze away from their interlaced fingers, she discovers that his eyes have not left her face. 

  
No, instead they’ve lowered dangerously. 

  
Outright staring at her lips, it is the most emotion she’s ever seen him betray towards her since they broke up.

  
A passion now re-lit, which had been burning beneath the surface. She’d chosen to ignore it, like her own returning desire for him.

  
“I’m going to kiss you.” And it’s not quite a question, he’s not exactly a man accustomed to asking permission. 

  
But it’s close enough.

  
“What are you waiting for?”

  
His right hand at her waist pushes at her lower back, guiding her into an arch. Roughly disentangling their fingers, his left comes up to curl possessively at the back of her neck and support her head. 

  
She wonders why for a moment, before the world spins and he gracefully dips her in what is surely the envy of any tango dancer. Taking the hint, she hitches her ankle high against his leg.

  
Trusts him not to drop her. 

  
Relaxes against his lips where she had been fighting him for dominance a moment before. 

  
She can feel his smile.

  
“There’s a good girl.”


End file.
